“Ivy?!” Penelope’s face breaks out in a smile that makes her look younger and more like a normal girl our age, instead of a superstar, as she looks at Jane. “Oh my gosh. I haven’t seen you since—” “It’s Jane,” my friend says. “Wait. You two know each other?” I ask, studying Jane carefully. Jane fidgets with the lid of her coffee. “I think we met once at a party back in LA.” Penelope looks between us, brow furrowed and mouth slightly open.
